Love's World

If the year be at her Spring

I neither know nor care;

I have the bird-song of your speech,

The warm rain of your hair.

I question not if thrushes sing,

If roses load the air;

Beyond my heart I need not reach

When all is summer there.

I go not by the blue above,

By grasses green or sere;

Your silences, your sigh, your smile,

They mark my time o' year.

Its own brave wonder-world has love;

So fair it is, I fear

Sometimes 't will fade and go the while

I look upon you, dear.